by Warhammer
‘We could go out and help them,’ said Skraffi. ‘Sounds like they’ve had more than their fill of orcs recently, I reckon. What if things were the other way around?’
‘Never would be,’ said Thundred. ‘There ain’t no giant cracks in the walls here, are there? And I figure that the Varnfolk have had plenty of practise killing greenskins just recently, a few more shouldna be a job.’
‘Harsh,’ said Skraffi, ‘even for the dwarf that saw half his command killed while holding the gap at Darkwater Vale.’
‘You’ve never forgotten about that, have you?’
‘‘That’s not really relevant, now, is it?’ Gabbik said quickly, sensing the conversation was about to descend into an argument well-worn, even centuries after it was first raised. ‘Thundred has a point, doesn’t he? How can we provide for the folks that are arriving and go traipsing into the wildlands looking for others? We can’t do everything. And we’ll lose folks doing it. Honest Ekrundfolk killed.’
Skraffi looked unhappy, chewing his moustache, eyebrows rising and falling in waves. He grunted and took a swig of beer.
‘And what if they lead the orcs right to our gates, eh? Goblins in the deeps and trolls wandering the pastures. The last thing we need is orcs on the doorstep.’
‘Bring ‘em on, I say,’ said Vadlir. He had his book out and was sat to one side, not looking up from the text. ‘Save us having to look for them, won’t it?’
‘This ain’t the old mountains, Skraffi,’ said Gabbik. ‘We might have a few greenies running around in the wildlands, but it’s nothing like the Dark Lands out east. The wastes have been swarming with all kinds of beggars I hear, since we had to pull back from the eastern watchtowers to defend against the elves.’
‘I was talking to a ranger what did some work up at the passes north of Karak Eight Peaks.’ Vadlir seemed to be capable of taking part in the conversation whilst simultaneously reading his book. ‘He says there’s never going to be an orc army that could cross the mountains.’
‘And I knew some damn fool who once said a dwarf city would never fall!’ snapped Skraffi. ‘Now two have, and what’s to be done about it? Sit on our backsides and wait for it to happen?’
‘That’s my point,’ said Vadlir. ‘It can’t happen here. There just ain’t enough of them bad sorts around.’
‘A few dozen goblins, the odd troll and some greedy orcs chasing terrified refugees is not an invasion force, old friend,’ said Thundred. He leaned across the table, placing his hammer on the boards, and patted Skraffi on the shoulder. ‘And there’s me and my door wardens to welcome them if they want to come knocking.’
‘And a few dozen bolt throwers,’ added Gabbik.
‘And catapults, and crossbows, and sixteen thousand paces of ramparts, walls and eighty towers,’ muttered Vadlir. ‘It’d be a really stupid orc that tried.’
‘But Karak Varn…’ Skraffi looked mollified but couldn’t quite concede that there was very little to threaten Ekrund.
‘Was broken, by the quakes, and half-sunk,’ said Gabbik. ‘Haldora heard it herself from one of the refugees. Lower deeps flooded, a good number of them were dead already by the time the orcs and goblins arrived. Plus ratmen from the depths.’
‘You were never this worried about the elves,’ said Thundred. ‘I don’t know what’s turned you into such a worry-brow.’
Skraffi shook his head, took a drink and shrugged. ‘I don’t know neither. Just a feeling in my bones, I guess.’ He puffed out a sigh and cocked an ear towards the open door. ‘Anyways, I should be getting back in there, they’ll be calling my number soon.’
Gabbik was reluctant to go, but it was clear that Thundred’s invitation to the three of them was courtesy of Skraffi’s presence. As his father and Vadlir went back into the main hall, Gabbik stopped at the doorway and turned to give his thanks. Thundred was looking at him curiously, stroking his beard.
‘What is it?’ asked Gabbik. He patted his beard and wiped his top lip. ‘Have I got crumbs? Beer froth?’
‘’Cept to look at you, Gabbik, I’d never have figured you for Skraffi and Awdhelga Angbok’s son.’
‘I know,’ Gabbik said, suppressing a sigh.
‘It’s a good thing, lad,’ Thundred said. He pulled his hammer towards him, the head scraping over wood. ‘Stand with your feet braced and your shoulders squared and be strong. You know your mind. Skraffi, he could talk the back legs off a pit pony, but he doesn’t know half of what he says. Used to be a sensible lad, but Awdhelga turned him inside-out and upside-down she did. You’ve got to keep it straight, be the beardier dwarf.’
Gabbik was about to say his thanks again and leave but Thundred continued.
‘Nobody ever got nowhere by being a hothead, lad. There’s your Skraffis that will run about and have mad ideas and such, but it’s the rest of us, the solid folk, what has to knuckle down and mine the ore and feed the forges and keep the ovens full and sow the fields and farm the mushrooms. He was a wild fighter, sure enough, but in a scrape what you want is a fella beside you that will keep his shield and hammer up and watch your back. You know what’s best for your clan and that’s what you’ve got to keep focused on, Gabbik.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ Gabbik replied, reassured by the old dwarf’s words. ‘I know Skraffi means well, but…’
‘Exactly. He’s proud of you, sure enough, and if you were my son so would I be. But he’ll never be fond of you, right? His heart was all taken up with Awdhelga and you’ve got little enough in common.’
Gabbik sighed and nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘And don’t change, that’s the worst thing you could do. I seen a lot in my years and it takes all sorts of folks to make the world work. ‘Cept elves. They can all go rot. And orcs too. Anyways, mark my words, this thing with the orcs will blow past in a year or two, if not sooner, and then we’ll all be feeling silly if we didn’t keep our heads.’
‘He means well.’
‘Meaning well and doing well ain’t the same thing, just remember that.’
They looked at each other for another moment, with Gabbik feeling that he would have been happier had his father been Thundred rather than Skraffi. Then the look became uncomfortable and the two of them broke the stare.
Gabbik moved back into the hall without saying anything further, and saw his father was already pressing into the crowd at the bottom of the royal steps. Vadlir loitered nearby, surreptitiously glancing down at the book in his hands whilst pretending to listen to the petitioners.
‘Just a couple more to go before your old pa is up,’ said Vadlir. ‘Almost missed his spot, the daft beggar.’
Gabbik hoped he would not regret his father’s timely return and waited with arms folded. The next two speakers had clearly spent the time waiting to concoct a joint plea to ask the king to extend a low-interest line of credit to the clans with spare chambers willing to house refugees at a barely-above-cost rate. It was not uncommon for those of like mind to come together and those of disagreement to begin their own negotiations in the ale halls and on the benches. Factions could form, re-form and disband, merge, split and completely change policy, opinion and members before one of the dwarfs had a chance to speak. A dwarf could also pass his token to another, in essence adding his vote or opinion to that of the dwarf who would speak. The speaker was granted no additional time, but by the end of the council it would be likely that each dwarf that got up before the king would be voicing the carefully considered and meticulously drafted opinions of several dozen dwarfs, sometimes even hundreds, representing many clans and societies and guilds – thousands of dwarfs in the wider community.
This was all part and parcel of the council bustle and banter. The king’s advisors, and those opposed to his current policies as they understood them, would be drumming up support in the lobby, brew halls and banquet chambers, either adding their support with a nod and a wink or canvassing for the speaking allotments of others to add a literal weight to their argument. If a d
warf said he was a token representative, it meant another was speaking on his behalf.
Skraffi’s appointed moment came around in two turns of the timekeeper’s glass, and the veteran warrior and novice mead brewer took his place at the bottom of the steps, thumbs tucked into his belt, glaring up at the king.
‘By Grungni,’ whispered Vadlir, ‘he looks like he’s going to give the king a right rollicking.’
It was true. Skraffi had an expression of fierce defiance and his shoulders were set as though he was trying to stare down a mountain lion. Gabbik swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably, fearful of what was about to come. Others had noticed too and were starting to take more of an interest, adding to Gabbik’s unease.
‘Skraffi Angbok!’ the announcer announced. The syllables of the clan name seemed to echo around just long enough to make sure everybody could hear. Angbok. Anybody listening would associate whatever came next with the name of Angbok, and so it would be recorded in the Annals of the Ekrundfolk.
Or so Gabbik hoped. There was always a chance it would be taken down in the king’s Book of Grudges.
‘There was a time,’ Skraffi began, as the royal timekeeper turned his ironwork glass, ‘when a dwarf could walk from Karak Izril to Karak Ungor without nary seeing a greenskin. Times were good but back then our ancestors were nothing more than beardlings, fresh-faced in their mothers’ arms. When I grew up there was war. War with the elves. In that time if a dwarf asked for aid there was a hundred who would answer and then some. When the High King sounded the horn of war there was not a hold nor mine nor outpost that didn’t have its folk pick up their axes and hammers and don their mail.’
As he spoke, Skraffi kept turning his head, addressing his words as much to the other dwarfs around him as to the king. There were nods from many at this stage.
‘And we won. Them elves have slunk back over the sea without so much of a whimper to hear from them these days.’ This was greeted with rumbles of happiness and growled epithets. ‘We conquered the land together. We defend the land together. That’s how it is. The rockfall don’t come when the first pebble comes loose and it don’t happen all of a sudden. The first pebble is the start though, and then another piece of stone, and another gets loose. What do we do then?’
‘Shore it up, you daft beggar!’ someone called out. It was a quite inappropriate interjection for an obviously rhetorical question and the young dwarf who had answered was swiftly silenced by the glares of his elders and betters.
‘S’right, you shore that roof up as quick as you can ‘fore the whole lot comes down,’ Skraffi continued with a nod. ‘If you’re too late though, you might stop the ceiling falling in that day, and maybe the next, but the day after you need a new prop, and then another, and even then it’s all a bit shaky and you’re never certain of digging that seam or using that hall again.’
His hands moved to his hips and his belly thrust out further, the sure sign of any ageing dwarf assuming his ‘proclaiming’ pose. For a moment Gabbik was terrified that his father was going to sing. By nature the Ekrundfolk had good, if deep, singing voices, much suited to sombre choruses and earthy folk songs, and Skraffi was no exception on this count. He was, however, incapable of keeping still whilst singing, having to bob his head, bend his knees and tap his feet along to the rhythm even when the song did not call for it. However, Gabbik was spared such embarrassment as Skraffi launched into a well-turned dwarf saying.
‘For want of a prop the roof was lost. For want of a roof the tunnel was lost.’ As he carried on Skraffi started to bob and his head moved back and forth in admonishment. There was a slightly glazed expression on his face as he recited the words, repeating them by rote the same way he had learnt them – the same way Gabbik had learnt them. ‘For want of a tunnel the seam was lost. For want of a seam the mine was lost.’ Skraffi’s eyes snapped wide open and he stared with manic triumph at his audience, which by that time had become quite numerous, for word was spreading to the rear benches and crowds were coming forwards on the galleries above. ‘For want of a mine the gold was lost. For want of some gold the clan was lost. And all for the want of a timber prop.’
Skraffi turned dramatically and thrust a finger at dwarfs in the crowd, at random it seemed to Gabbik for he could not imagine Skraffi knew any of them.
‘Would you pinch the prop that was needed? Or you? What about you? And you there, with the wart and the… What is that? A ferret? Never mind.’ Skraffi appeared to deflate, his wild hair settling, beard slowing in its undulations as he turned to face the king once more. ‘I have a few lines to add, perhaps. For want of the clan, the army was lost. For want of an army, the hold was lost. For want of a hold… Let’s not dwell on that. I am told that such a disaster will never come to Ekrund. This is very likely true and I offer thanks to Grungni, Valaya and Grimnir that it might ever be the case, for if others in Karak Eight Peaks or perhaps Karak Drazh or even Karaz-a-Karak might be having the same conversation as us in the decades to come, might we hope that it is not too late to act.’
‘What do you suggest?’ The king’s question echoed down from above, causing a ripple of gasps to sound across the hall. It was almost unprecedented for the king to intervene in a petition in such a way, especially on such a large subject. A few of his closest advisors hurried up the steps towards Erstukar, who had stood up to look down at Skraffi. ‘What prop do you bring, Skraffi Angbok?’
Gabbik was horrified and elated in equal measure and alternating between the two quite quickly. On the one hand the scene was entirely cringe-inducing in its lack of propriety and adherence to customary council intercourse; on the other the king had just said ‘Angbok’! The name was amongst the king’s utterances now.
‘Summon the throng and retake Karak Varn.’ A bubble of silence expanded out from Skraffi as he spoke. ‘Call upon our cousins in Karak Eight Peaks and Zhufbar to aid us. Petition the High King to send the army of Karaz-a-Karak to Karak Ungor.’
It was such a reckless, thoughtless proposal, Gabbik could hardly bring himself to believe it had come from a right-thinking dwarf. Unfortunately it had come from his father, and that pretty much summed up Gabbik’s feeling on both the suggestion and his father’s ideas.
Skraffi’s reply brought laughter from some of the dwarfs around him, scowls from others. The king was not laughing. Nor was he scowling.
‘You would have me take Ekrund to war, Skraffi Angbok?’ There was the clan’s name again, but this time Gabbik was very much certain he would rather it had not been mentioned in the same breath as ‘war’. ‘To retake a hold lost by others?’
‘A flooded hold!’ someone called out.
‘Very far away!’ added another voice.
‘Not our problem, it’s too late now,’ said a third.
Skraffi looked at the royal timekeeper, who shrugged and held aloft his glass to show that there was still time remaining.
‘I’ve said my piece,’ Skraffi grumbled, and turned away. ‘Think on it what you will.’
The old dwarf shouldered his way through the crowd that had gathered. Soon the dwarfs were parting in front of him, some quizzical, others incredulous, a few shaking their heads. Gabbik heard insults being muttered. More were called down from the galleries above. Skraffi squared his shoulders and trudged out with his head straight.
‘Warmonger.’
‘Wazzock.’
‘Doomsayer.’
‘Troublemaker.’
‘Wagglebeard.’
Soon Skraffi was out of earshot and the grumbling and whispering died away. The next petitioner was called out. He stood at the bottom of the steps and looked around at his fellows, discombobulated by the events that had preceded his arrival.
With a shrug the dwarf announced himself as a representative of the South Towers Masons’ and Fortifiers’ Assembly and launched into a speech about how if the king were to fund such a venture, they were willing to put aside current projects and commissions to divert their time and energy to the constru
ction of semi-permanent residential towers on the east and south-east sides of the mountain. He had a wooden model and scale drawings.
The other dwarfs drifted away, leaving Gabbik with Vadlir. Neither of them was going to be called up any time soon and they allowed the flow of dwarfs around them to gently propel them from the foot of the steps towards the rear benches. When the crowd had thinned they deposited themselves in a suitable place and waited for their turns.
Many of the dwarfs to speak after Skraffi came with the prepared speeches and promises, but a few took up the subject raised by Gabbik’s father. A few, young firebrands by the look of them, echoed the call to arms voiced by Skraffi but most who spoke were dead set against the idea. The cost, they reminded the king, would be considerable, in gold and lives. Such a venture would bring uncertain reward. To reconquer Karak Varn would leave Ekrund vulnerable – although the dwarfs who argued thus were also quite keen to point out that there was no possible threat to Ekrund itself from these events.
As these perfectly sensible arguments were put forth, Gabbik started to consider his own position on the matter. He was, he decided, utterly unconvinced that the loss of the two holds in the old mountains set any kind of precedent. Both greenskin attacks had been calamitous but freakish occurrences, brought about by the quakes and volcanoes – and the flood in the case of Karak Varn – that were unlikely to be duplicated elsewhere.
There were also a handful of dwarfs who passionately spoke about events in the old mountains. They did not outright support Skraffi’s proposal but they did not object. These were the thanes of Karak Varn, and when they were called a fair number of Ekrundfolk came back into the hall and crammed into the upper galleries to hear what they had to say.
‘The Ungdrin Ankor is shattered,’ one white-bearded petitioner told the assembly, referring to the subterranean network that linked the holds of the old mountains to each other. ‘Grobi infest it, and the ratmen build their nests in the cracks between tunnels. There was a time a runner could go from Karak Vlag to Kazak Izril, but no more shall it be so. The underway is gone and from its depths the evil things come forth in great numbers.’
